


The wisest of them all

by Ariana (Ariana_El)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Post-Darkening of Valinor, The Noldor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 00:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: Arafinwe turns away from his brothers, returns to Valinor and faces the consequences.





	The wisest of them all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anduniela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anduniela/gifts).



> A little treat for Anduniela, who wanted Finarfin.

The words of the Doom followed his footsteps on the vast shores of Araman, ringing in his ears, echoing in the hole ripped in his heart. There was none of his blood around him to share the grief in this dark hour; neither his brothers and sister nor his children.

The Doom had been spoken. Grief and despair, sorrow and death awaited the Noldor who had rebelled against the power of the Valar and who had shed the blood of their kin. The crimson that had tainted the white shores of Alqualonde forever marked the Noldor as murderers, regardless to whether they had actually pierced someone or not.

Not as fierce and outspoken as his brothers he might have been, but Arafinwe was no less bitter and determined when he turned his back to them and walked away, choosing the reason over his own pride. Many followed him and strengthened his resolve, yet even they could not console the gaping wound his heart had turned into. Still, Arafinwe had chosen his path and he would not step from it.

***

"What would you have me do, my king?"

The words came like a blow, though spoken with respect by someone he had always held dear to his heart. _King_. A King they called him even as his two older brothers camped somewhere at the edge of Araman. It was a king the Noldor wanted and so they should have one; those few who had followed him and maybe those who had never left. The title his father had held for so long, the title passed briefly to his eldest brother – now it would befall him. Ill had it served so far to those who had bore it; what would be his fate?

Arafinwe Finwion raised his head and stilled his heart from its mad race by the sheer power of his will. The time would come for grieving his fallen father and those lost forever. The time would come to wonder. Now there were matters to settle before they get out of hand.

“Set a camp. For now, we shall go no further,” he spoke with a calm confidence he didn’t really feel.

***

Never had he felt so alone and abandoned as when he walked towards the Valar. Not a single jewel shone in his hair, now cut short right below his ears; no belt of gold at his waist, nor his favourite emeralds around his neck. An envoy of the Noldor was he to those whom he was about to meet, not a king.

Was this how his father had felt the first time he had arrived to Valinor with but two friends? But where Finwe witnessed splendour and glory befitting the Realm that was indeed blessed, Arafinwe faced the darkness and mourning. Grim were the faces of those who were waiting for him. 

The Noldor who had followed him named him their king and as their king and their voice, Arafinwe went and did what none of his brothers ever would. He put aside the pride so known in his family and he bent his knees before the Valar and king Olwe, pleading for forgiveness.

Manwe watched him for a long time and though his expression did not change, Arafinwe felt as if his spirit was bared and his deepest thoughts revealed. Yet he did not move nor backed and finally Manwe approached him.

“Rise, son of Finwe. Your actions prove that your heart is grieved and indeed open to acknowledge the wrongs you Noldor have caused. We seek no war and we wish not to see it upon our doorstep. A pardon you shall have and a passage you shall be granted. Return to your homes. And when the time comes, we shall speak again.”

Then Olwe stepped forward and spoke. “We shall seek no vengeance, for it were ill actions that resulted in bloodshed and such tragedy should never happen again. But know this, Ingoldo. No Noldo is welcome upon my shores. Dwell in your city, but do not dare to cross my borders, for right now it shall tangle us all in an endless conflict.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the humbled king behind.

***

Hard was the road up from the bloodied shores to the city that stood almost empty. The air was thick with smoke of the fires burning here and there, for they were the only source of light save for the stars high upon the sky. The host dwindled as the elves were leaving the column to return to their homes. Some were awaited by their families, but some had to face the loneliness of the abandoned buildings.

Arafinwe knew not what he would find in his own house. King Olwe had made it clear neither he nor any of the Noldor were welcome in Alqualonde, but what about his daughter? Had she already learned that her children had left for Middle-earth?

The doors were unlocked. Arafinwe crossed the wide hall and passed chamber after chamber, but no one came to greet him; the hour must have been late, though without the Trees there was no way of telling. At last he reached the private chambers he had shared with his wife. The doors were open and he spotted a faint glow of the Feanorian Lamp, but he dwelled uncertain at the doorstep.

“Come.”

And so he did, shutting the doors behind him and barring the ever-present darkness from the little light he still possessed. The chamber they had shared for so long seemed different lit only by the crystal lamps; the candles that had been lit there had long since burned down.

Earwen, a pale blue crystal of Fëanaro’s making in her hand, came forward and the two spots of light met like sparkles of hope. Her slender arm around his waist, his hand caressing her back, they stood in silence. No words were spoken between them, but none were needed.

***

The mingling did not come as the Trees were dead, but they could not dwell on that thought, for there was much to be done. Some deeds were unforgivable, but some could perhaps be mended. Arafinwe, the High King of the scattered Noldor, would see to that. This was the burden he was left with and this was the one he was going to carry.

No crown sat upon his brow; and none would for a very long time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ingoldo is Finarfin's mother name meaning simply 'the Noldo". It seemed fitting for Olwe to use it.


End file.
